Hush, Little Baby (PG-13)
All part of the conspiracy to be found here. :D
Hush, Little Baby
♥ 1400ish words, AU set post PKW, about as fluffy as I get
♥ sprogfic written especially for Feldman (& Mr. F too)
♥ many thanks to kernezelda for beta and sabaceanbabe for the pokey stick
Hush, Little Baby
Biting his tongue, John arranged a pillow up against Moya's warm skinsteel and settled more comfortably on the bed. He opened an oversized, hand-bound book and took refuge behind the crudely drawn but brightly-colored illustrations, which effectively blocked any view of the table where Aeryn sat disassembling her pulse pistol.
He heard her sigh. "It's time, John."
"Didn't say it wasn't." But that didn't mean he had to like it. And it didn't mean he wasn't scared shitless by the necessity; a cold, deep terror that he knew Aeryn understood. The fear was in the open between them, unspoken but acknowledged nonetheless.
Since he didn't have a better idea, they would follow Aeryn's plan. John snuggled his infant daughter in the crook of his arm and began to read. "The itsy-bitsy spider crawled up the water spout…"
"D'Argo, do you remember the names of each part?" Aeryn's voice, quiet and grave. John could close his eyes and picture her slender fingers pointing to each lump of metal, the dark eyes of their son following.
"Barrel," D'Argo piped confidently. "Grip, chakkan oil cartridge, triggerin' mech'nism, ock - ocular scope." Rhythmic thuds underscored each word; John knew the boy would be sitting close beside his mother, legs swinging, small boots thumping against the table legs.
"Guh," the baby said, gumming one clenched fist impatiently. She was five monens old, curious about everything and as stubborn as only a Crichton-Sun child could be. John pressed a kiss to the top of her head, nuzzling the fine hair - brown, like his and Olivia's - and continued. "Down came the rain, and washed the spider out."
*
"It's time, John. We can't protect them forever, especially now we have two."
"I know."
"D'Argo is three cycles old - almost as grown as a Peacekeeper child would be. His fine-motor skills and coordination are developing as they should. He can do this."
"He's a child, Aeryn."
"He's a child in a dangerous universe, John. He's your son. We owe it to him to teach him how to protect himself."
*
"That's right, D'Argo. Now I've taken it apart, this weapon is safe. You can handle it - but only when your father or I are with you. Do you understand?"
There was no affirmative. John turned a page, using the opportunity to steal a glance at his wife and son. Two dark heads bent over the table; two tiny hands held a chakkan oil cartridge, turning it over and every which way. Aeryn murmured in D'Argo's ear; his face scrunched up with incredulity, but at his mother's nod, though with a doubtful frown, the boy brought the ammunition case to his lips and licked.
The look of surprise on little D's face was comical, but nothing about the situation was funny.
*
"It shouldn't have to be this way."
"I know. But ignorance makes him vulnerable. You remember what that was like."
"It's not the same thing."
"It is exactly the same thing."
"Dammit, Aeryn, it's not fair! He's a little boy - he should be catching frogs and coloring on the walls and building a treehouse, not playing with dummy pulse pistols and learning how to kill people!"
"I know it's not how you grew up. But I don't see another option - do you?"
*
"Aah!" With her free hand, his daughter smacked a picture of a many-legged woolly creature that had been Chiana's handiwork. Obediently, John returned his attention to the book. "Baa baa black sheep, have you any wool…"
Together, with occasional bouts of drooling and spit bubbles, they worked their way through Hey Diddle Diddle and Little Bunny Foo-Foo and Three Blind Mice as Aeryn's instruction continued across the room. Eventually the baby yawned, eyelids drooping heavily. John scooted her up against his shoulder and swung his legs over the side of the bed, rising somewhat awkwardly to his feet.
He met Aeryn's questioning gaze with a neutral expression of his own. "We're gonna take a little walk up to the terrace."
Grinning from ear to ear, D'Argo waved the reassembled gun, still unloaded, up over his head. "Look what I did, Daddy!"
"D'Argo!"
The boy froze at Aeryn's sharp rebuke, bottom lip wobbling in a guilty frown, and carefully placed the weapon back on the table top. John forced a reassuring smile, forced words past the lump in his throat. "That's right, son. It's not a toy, not like your play gun."
D'Argo darted a quick look at his mother.
She brushed gentle fingers through his hair. "Lesson over, for now. Say goodnight to your father."
*
As John absently patted his daughter's back, humming tunelessly, long fingers trailed across the nape of this neck. He shivered, but didn't look away from the endless expanse of stars.
"You've been here for some time." Aeryn came around to his side, facing him but not blocking the view. She considered him for a moment and then crossed her arms, leaning back against the transparent skinsteel.
"Yup."
She waited. Microts ticked by in the dim solitude, stillness broken only by the repetitive melody. "What's the song?"
He grimaced. "Rock-a-Bye-Baby. How's that for irony?"
"Tell me." When he didn't answer, when he merely shook his head, hugging the baby to his chest, she moved close and laid a hand on his arm. "John."
He looked down at Aeryn's hand, so deceptively delicate. He'd seen them in action, snapping necks and delivering lethal blows; but he'd also seen them tickle little D, and cup the baby's head during her bath. He'd felt them himself, brutal and soft; felt them dispense pain and pleasure, unbearable agony and the most exquisite joy. "Life's a lot different for kids on Earth, that's all."
Fingers gripped his flesh in a sympathetic squeeze. "Different worlds, different threats."
John chuckled mirthlessly. "I know. Or maybe not - that's what I've been thinking about. All those nursery rhymes and lullabies, songs for children, they're full of death and violence. Broken bones, cradles falling out of trees, bloodthirsty housewives running around with knives, exploding weasels...." He managed a crooked grin, but the smile soon slipped. "Hell, even just falling asleep and never waking up."
"We'll do the best we can. It's all we can do." Aeryn's eyes darkened as she shifted her hand, placing it over his on the baby's back. "I know it scares you. It scares me, too. How can we keep them safe, when we've hardly kept ourselves and each other alive?"
John tipped his head back, closing his eyes. "I… it's just, the stakes are so much higher now, Aeryn."
"Yes." She surprised him by agreeing, by not trying to minimize his apprehension with logic and reason. Stretching up, she sought his mouth with her own, sharing the burden of her own uncertainty. They huddled together, insignificant in the grand scheme of the universe, and John thought - Maybe we can do this. Maybe we'll be all right, after all.
A muffled, cranky wail punctured the silence. John broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Aeryn's. "She's got my sense of timing, that's for sure."
"So we are all spared the dubious pleasure of your singing, then," Aeryn said, lightly smacking his cheek before sneaking another quick kiss. But she was smiling, and he could feel the foolish grin plastered across his own face.
"Hey, I sing better than Rygel," John retorted. "That hurts."
"An elderly gravlak with Hypatian space laryngitis would sing better than Rygel."
"Yeah, well… whatever." He wound an arm around his wife as she pressed against him, and they stood quietly for microts, simply looking out into space.
"Oooh, I've got one."
"One what?"
John waggled his eyebrows wickedly. "Ask me again later, honey, I might show you. Ow! Hey, personal space - no pinching, Aeryn!"
"You were saying…?"
"I was saying, I thought of a song. A good song."
"Oh."
"Trust me."
"Don't drop our daughter."
Twinkle, twinkle, little star -
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star -
How I wonder what you are.
"That's not a star, it's an asteroid."
"Aeryn."
"I'm just saying…"
"Honey."
"What? Now over there, that's a star. Don't you want her to learn properly?"
"She's five months old, Aeryn."
"But she's very smart - she takes after her mother. Your sense of timing, my intelligence."
"You must mean your ego."
"Well, you did give me my very own star... and it wasn't an asteroid, either."
"Aeryn."
"John."
"Shut up and kiss me again."
Hush, Little Baby
♥ 1400ish words, AU set post PKW, about as fluffy as I get
♥ sprogfic written especially for Feldman (& Mr. F too)
♥ many thanks to kernezelda for beta and sabaceanbabe for the pokey stick
Hush, Little Baby
Biting his tongue, John arranged a pillow up against Moya's warm skinsteel and settled more comfortably on the bed. He opened an oversized, hand-bound book and took refuge behind the crudely drawn but brightly-colored illustrations, which effectively blocked any view of the table where Aeryn sat disassembling her pulse pistol.
He heard her sigh. "It's time, John."
"Didn't say it wasn't." But that didn't mean he had to like it. And it didn't mean he wasn't scared shitless by the necessity; a cold, deep terror that he knew Aeryn understood. The fear was in the open between them, unspoken but acknowledged nonetheless.
Since he didn't have a better idea, they would follow Aeryn's plan. John snuggled his infant daughter in the crook of his arm and began to read. "The itsy-bitsy spider crawled up the water spout…"
"D'Argo, do you remember the names of each part?" Aeryn's voice, quiet and grave. John could close his eyes and picture her slender fingers pointing to each lump of metal, the dark eyes of their son following.
"Barrel," D'Argo piped confidently. "Grip, chakkan oil cartridge, triggerin' mech'nism, ock - ocular scope." Rhythmic thuds underscored each word; John knew the boy would be sitting close beside his mother, legs swinging, small boots thumping against the table legs.
"Guh," the baby said, gumming one clenched fist impatiently. She was five monens old, curious about everything and as stubborn as only a Crichton-Sun child could be. John pressed a kiss to the top of her head, nuzzling the fine hair - brown, like his and Olivia's - and continued. "Down came the rain, and washed the spider out."
*
"It's time, John. We can't protect them forever, especially now we have two."
"I know."
"D'Argo is three cycles old - almost as grown as a Peacekeeper child would be. His fine-motor skills and coordination are developing as they should. He can do this."
"He's a child, Aeryn."
"He's a child in a dangerous universe, John. He's your son. We owe it to him to teach him how to protect himself."
*
"That's right, D'Argo. Now I've taken it apart, this weapon is safe. You can handle it - but only when your father or I are with you. Do you understand?"
There was no affirmative. John turned a page, using the opportunity to steal a glance at his wife and son. Two dark heads bent over the table; two tiny hands held a chakkan oil cartridge, turning it over and every which way. Aeryn murmured in D'Argo's ear; his face scrunched up with incredulity, but at his mother's nod, though with a doubtful frown, the boy brought the ammunition case to his lips and licked.
The look of surprise on little D's face was comical, but nothing about the situation was funny.
*
"It shouldn't have to be this way."
"I know. But ignorance makes him vulnerable. You remember what that was like."
"It's not the same thing."
"It is exactly the same thing."
"Dammit, Aeryn, it's not fair! He's a little boy - he should be catching frogs and coloring on the walls and building a treehouse, not playing with dummy pulse pistols and learning how to kill people!"
"I know it's not how you grew up. But I don't see another option - do you?"
*
"Aah!" With her free hand, his daughter smacked a picture of a many-legged woolly creature that had been Chiana's handiwork. Obediently, John returned his attention to the book. "Baa baa black sheep, have you any wool…"
Together, with occasional bouts of drooling and spit bubbles, they worked their way through Hey Diddle Diddle and Little Bunny Foo-Foo and Three Blind Mice as Aeryn's instruction continued across the room. Eventually the baby yawned, eyelids drooping heavily. John scooted her up against his shoulder and swung his legs over the side of the bed, rising somewhat awkwardly to his feet.
He met Aeryn's questioning gaze with a neutral expression of his own. "We're gonna take a little walk up to the terrace."
Grinning from ear to ear, D'Argo waved the reassembled gun, still unloaded, up over his head. "Look what I did, Daddy!"
"D'Argo!"
The boy froze at Aeryn's sharp rebuke, bottom lip wobbling in a guilty frown, and carefully placed the weapon back on the table top. John forced a reassuring smile, forced words past the lump in his throat. "That's right, son. It's not a toy, not like your play gun."
D'Argo darted a quick look at his mother.
She brushed gentle fingers through his hair. "Lesson over, for now. Say goodnight to your father."
*
As John absently patted his daughter's back, humming tunelessly, long fingers trailed across the nape of this neck. He shivered, but didn't look away from the endless expanse of stars.
"You've been here for some time." Aeryn came around to his side, facing him but not blocking the view. She considered him for a moment and then crossed her arms, leaning back against the transparent skinsteel.
"Yup."
She waited. Microts ticked by in the dim solitude, stillness broken only by the repetitive melody. "What's the song?"
He grimaced. "Rock-a-Bye-Baby. How's that for irony?"
"Tell me." When he didn't answer, when he merely shook his head, hugging the baby to his chest, she moved close and laid a hand on his arm. "John."
He looked down at Aeryn's hand, so deceptively delicate. He'd seen them in action, snapping necks and delivering lethal blows; but he'd also seen them tickle little D, and cup the baby's head during her bath. He'd felt them himself, brutal and soft; felt them dispense pain and pleasure, unbearable agony and the most exquisite joy. "Life's a lot different for kids on Earth, that's all."
Fingers gripped his flesh in a sympathetic squeeze. "Different worlds, different threats."
John chuckled mirthlessly. "I know. Or maybe not - that's what I've been thinking about. All those nursery rhymes and lullabies, songs for children, they're full of death and violence. Broken bones, cradles falling out of trees, bloodthirsty housewives running around with knives, exploding weasels...." He managed a crooked grin, but the smile soon slipped. "Hell, even just falling asleep and never waking up."
"We'll do the best we can. It's all we can do." Aeryn's eyes darkened as she shifted her hand, placing it over his on the baby's back. "I know it scares you. It scares me, too. How can we keep them safe, when we've hardly kept ourselves and each other alive?"
John tipped his head back, closing his eyes. "I… it's just, the stakes are so much higher now, Aeryn."
"Yes." She surprised him by agreeing, by not trying to minimize his apprehension with logic and reason. Stretching up, she sought his mouth with her own, sharing the burden of her own uncertainty. They huddled together, insignificant in the grand scheme of the universe, and John thought - Maybe we can do this. Maybe we'll be all right, after all.
A muffled, cranky wail punctured the silence. John broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Aeryn's. "She's got my sense of timing, that's for sure."
"So we are all spared the dubious pleasure of your singing, then," Aeryn said, lightly smacking his cheek before sneaking another quick kiss. But she was smiling, and he could feel the foolish grin plastered across his own face.
"Hey, I sing better than Rygel," John retorted. "That hurts."
"An elderly gravlak with Hypatian space laryngitis would sing better than Rygel."
"Yeah, well… whatever." He wound an arm around his wife as she pressed against him, and they stood quietly for microts, simply looking out into space.
"Oooh, I've got one."
"One what?"
John waggled his eyebrows wickedly. "Ask me again later, honey, I might show you. Ow! Hey, personal space - no pinching, Aeryn!"
"You were saying…?"
"I was saying, I thought of a song. A good song."
"Oh."
"Trust me."
"Don't drop our daughter."
Twinkle, twinkle, little star -
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star -
How I wonder what you are.
"That's not a star, it's an asteroid."
"Aeryn."
"I'm just saying…"
"Honey."
"What? Now over there, that's a star. Don't you want her to learn properly?"
"She's five months old, Aeryn."
"But she's very smart - she takes after her mother. Your sense of timing, my intelligence."
"You must mean your ego."
"Well, you did give me my very own star... and it wasn't an asteroid, either."
"Aeryn."
"John."
"Shut up and kiss me again."